


Everything's Better Under the Sea

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Background Relationships, Bonding, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Mermaid Stiles Stilinski, Minor Aiden/Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Minor Cora Hale/Isaac Lahey, Minor Ethan/Danny Mahealani, Minor Laura Hale/Jordan Parrish, Minor Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes, Shapeshifter Derek Hale, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Surfer Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 08:58:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4700006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything changes when Derek goes under while surfing, hits his head on a board, and sees a man with a tail swimming away. He wants to know who that was, and what it has to do with Beacon Hills, the one place he never meant to come back to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything's Better Under the Sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teas_me](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teas_me/gifts).



> MAGGIE. I'm so so so sorry that this took so long, and I hope you like it. Yes, there is light angst, but there is fluff and romance and happy endings, and I just want it to make you smile in the end, and I hope you adore mermaid!Stiles.
> 
> This is an auction fic based on a gif set from tumblr that is unfortunately no longer available for me to link to. Suffice to say, it's Sterek with mermaid!Stiles, and the surfer bits I got all on my own. The ancient book, Stiles swimming away, and mermaids came from the gif set.
> 
> As a sidenote, this is marked explicit, but I will admit that it treads the line between mature and explicit so please do not expect heavy hot mermaid smut. I did research the sexuality of whales for this fic (because whales are mammals, like mermaids, and unlike fish) which just barely shows in the story.
> 
> As always, I do not own the world nor characters of Teen Wolf, I just like to play with them. If you think there is a tag that I've missed or should be on here either as a warning or to help folks find this story, please let me know!
> 
> NOTE: rating changed to mature 9/5/2015

Derek’s been riding waves since he could barely walk, and started competing in his sister’s wake when they were sixteen and seventeen. There’s barely been a time in his life when he hasn’t felt like the water was a part of him, and when he hasn’t been fired up to get the best waves and the best ride.

He loves competition, and he loves winning, but in the end, it’s all about the ride.

He grew up in Beacon Hills—just an hour from this exact beach—but he usually tries to avoid competing here. He’s been all over the world, from Australia to South America to Hawaii, but the home country competitions are the ones that set him on edge. It’s like finding a sudden influx of _dude_ in his life, and he remembers that he’s not like everyone else.

Not really a surprise, all things considered.

“Are you ready to go?” Cora launches herself at him, sliding on the sand of the beach, wrapping her arms around him to hug him hard. “Isaac’s all tucked in with the rest of the audience, and Laura’s with the boards. There’s some cute guy down there that she’s flirting with, so if you want your stuff set up right, do it yourself. You know she’s useless when a guy gets involved.”

It’s not true. Laura’s one of the most focused people that Derek knows, and if it hadn’t been for her, he’s pretty sure the three of them would’ve been lost ten years ago when they found themselves suddenly on their own.

Which only reminds him why _this_ beach is a problem. Why Beacon Hills is a problem.

He huffs a sigh, and Cora only holds on harder, like a lanky octopus trying to crush him before she plants a wet kiss on his cheek and darts off. She’s waving to someone Derek doesn’t know and honestly doesn’t care about. He doesn’t do this to make friends; he does it for the water and the waves.

On the other hand, this time Cora’s right: Laura’s flirting more than she’s prepping his board, so Derek takes it away from her and makes sure it’s waxed properly and ready to go. He checks the line and makes sure nothing’s warped during the trip up from Mexico, then walks to the edge of the water and looks out at the crowd. 

People are already lining up, waiting for the right moment to drop in. He needs to get some time out there before he has to perform on demand, but he hates crowds like this. He’d rather be at an invitational, the kind of place that doesn’t let _everyone_ in, but no, this is a qualifier. And he’s here because his sponsor told him to be. In the end, money talks, and status is everything. The rest of the world doesn’t need to know that the Hale siblings are set for life on their own. They don’t need endorsements, don’t need the influx of money that it brings. They could travel and surf on their own for another twenty years if they wanted to. But people expect the endorsements. It’s proof of how successful he is, whether he’s wearing something well-known or some piddling little advertisement that barely pays enough to eat, like the group of pretty models dashing into the water nearby. He catches a few tags on them, but nothing major, nothing that says any of them are something to watch out for.

And those are the ones who are here to try to beat him. As if they even have a chance.

Someone hip-checks him, and he sees Cora waiting with her board in hand. She motions and he goes in first, paddling out to taste the water, see what it feels like under his board. They find their place in the crowd, jockeying for position, but he doesn’t need to go in too soon. He wants to see how the waves are breaking, which way the wind blows. He wants to know if things are mushy or if it’s going to be a good day.

So he watches, scopes out the competition.

“Lydia’s good,” Cora says. She’s straddling her board, the movement of the water lifting her up and down lightly as she stays close to his left flank. “She’s the only one of that group that really has a chance, I think. The redhead.” She shrugs one shoulder, and Derek realizes she’s talking about the models, and the one with fiery hair in the middle of the group. 

“I met them when we were checking in last night. Isaac hit it off with Scott, and they started talking about vet school.” Cora makes an irritated noise; college is a point of contention between her and Isaac, and Derek knows they need to sort it out eventually. “Scott’s a bio major and his girlfriend Allison is in history. They just surf for fun. Lydia’s serious, and she met her boyfriend Aidan while they were both on the local circuit. Her other boyfriend’s best friend Danny is also good, and he’s dating Aidan’s twin. Seems like that worked out well for them.”

“You met them once and know their entire social history,” Derek says dryly. “You should go into the police force. Be an undercover detective. You’d have every case solved after one dinner with the suspects.”

“Some of us actually like people, Derek.”

“Yeah, well.” Derek lets that go, because Cora was too young at the time to know the details of _why_ Derek doesn’t socialize at competitions. Laura knows, and she’s the one who picked up the pieces. Derek’s never felt the need to tell Cora, as long as she isn’t in danger of repeating the same mistakes. Apparently she’s a better judge of character than he ever was, so it works out.

“I’m going in.” Derek paddles forward abruptly, done with the conversation, and slides into the wave. It feels like it’s going to be a good one, and he finds his balance easily, coming to his feet and riding it longer than he expected. The water spills over him, circles around him in a rush of noise, and he swears he hears a song in it.

The siren song of the sea, pulling him in. He closes his eyes at the very end, lets the music wash over him, the notes ringing in his ears as the ride ends and he spills into the water and lets himself go under.

He throws himself into the day, riding the waves until he forgets everything else. His body is wet, he feels like he’s a part of this beach now, like he can predict the shift in the water, find the perfect wave to go into. When the competition begins, he’s ready, and everyone else may as well not exist. He’s aware of his sisters in the water, somewhere in the periphery, but there’s no conscious attention. It’s him and the ocean, and nothing more.

He’s dimly aware of others when he takes a wave, but as soon as he’s in the tube, everything else seems to disappear. It’s only him and the song and the deep blue of the water. He barely registers when the water tilts, something upsetting it, changing the pattern, then he’s off the board and going over in the deep, a clock on his head making his head swim dangerously. He blinks, and he swears he sees a face in the water with him: a man, with wide brown eyes, skin dotted with moles, and a tail that flips, slapping the water as he disappears into the distance.

Derek inhales without thinking, meaning to call out, and chokes on the water in his lungs. He coughs, and inhales again, then he’s sliding under and the world goes black.

#

“Fuck.” His throat hurts. His chest hurts. His _lungs_ hurt. Every breath feels like someone is sticking knives inside of him and swirling them around, making _sure_ he’s well and truly damned. And it fucking sucks.

“You lost,” Cora says, and Derek growls under his breath, not bothering to open his eyes. He didn’t need her to tell him that, not when he can smell the antiseptic of the hospital and hear the beep of the machines.

“Cora, go tell Isaac that he’s awake.” Laura’s words are crisp and calm, carrying the authority that she has always held over them. She waits until Cora is gone before she leans in, her hand tangling with Derek’s and squeezing gently. “You want to tell me what happened today?”

“I don’t like it here.” It’s not an excuse, but it is almost an explanation. And Laura knows him well enough not to push for more.

Instead she leans in, brushes his hair back from his face as she sighs. “You scared the shit out of me, Derek. You disappeared under that wave like something dragged you in, and you were down for a long time before we managed to pull you out. If it hadn’t been for Isaac and one of the local kids, we might have lost you; they got you breathing again, and you coughed up half the ocean all over them in thanks. Then you started babbling about fish-men and singing and how you had to go back. You were delirious for hours, then you passed out.”

Delirious for _hours_? Derek frowns, feeling the way his brow furrows, the skin tight from salt water. “How long was I out?”

“Three days.” Laura’s not the kind of person to sugar-coat a situation, although she keeps idly touching his hair, soothing him. “They transported you from the little hospital by the beach to the big one in Beacon Hills. They wanted to have you somewhere that they could put you on a breathing machine if you needed it. Thankfully you didn’t.”

There’s a light rap on the door before it nudges open. “Hey there.” The woman standing in the entry is obviously a nurse, her scrubs bright and cheery with cats all over them and a stethoscope around her neck. “A little birdie told me that our patient’s awake, and I wanted to stop in and get some vitals before the crowd comes in to visit.”

“Crowd?” Derek and Laura echo the word, exchanging a look while the nurse helps Derek sit up so she can change the incline of the bed to make it more comfortable with him.

“I haven’t had the heart to tell them to leave,” the nurse admits with a rueful smile. “My son brought your…” She hesitates, head tilting before she asks, “brother?” Laura makes a face, and the nurse simply goes on. “Anyway, they all came in together, and they’ve been keeping Isaac company today while the girls were in with you, Derek. Isaac seemed a little lost, so I let them stay.”

“Your son.” Laura’s words are clipped, unfriendly, but the nurse seems unfazed.

“Scott McCall,” she replies. “I’m Melissa, and I’ll be your nurse while I’m on shift, since you’ve landed on my ward, Derek. Here.” She tucks a thermometer under his tongue, taking note of the temperature on his chart once it beeps. She moves through the rest of the exam with quick efficiency, noting his heart rate and blood pressure, as well as readings from the machine. Derek has no idea what it all means, but he can’t really argue right now, not when he’s torn between feeling starved and like he could go back to sleep for another week.

Not to mention the way his lungs feel scraped raw, and the ringing in his ears. He shakes his head, tilts it and taps on one side like it might get the water to come out.

“Water in your ears?” Melissa pokes him there as well, making a small noise. “It’s not bad, and you’ll be fine enough. No infection setting in. If you’re hearing things, it might be more from the knock on the head than the water in your ears.” She crosses her arms and for a moment Derek is reminded vividly of his own mother from ten years before. “You’ll be staying here at least another twenty-four hours for observation, per doctor’s orders. He wants to make sure you don’t have any lingering effects from the head injury. I’ll bring you in a sheet on concussion treatment to review, so you can prepare any questions before he gets here. Short version is that you’ll need plenty of bed rest and won’t be back in the water for at least a week. I wouldn’t recommend traveling either, especially if you plan on getting into a plane.”

“Melissa.” Laura’s quick way of speaking draws Derek’s attention as well as Melissa’s. He knows this version of his sister, very protective and hiding her worry behind a false smile. “Just how much of a _crowd_ is out there?”

He can almost see the way Laura works through the issues, trying to decide exactly what they want to do here. The elder Hales aren’t social, not usually, although Laura has her moments. Derek, on the other hand, prefers isolation and she knows that. However, if that’s the same Scott that helped Isaac save him, Derek owes him at least a thank you.

“It’s okay,” he says quietly. “Just let them come in. They’re not really here for me, are they?”

“You might be surprised; this is a friendly group of kids, and they’ve been worried about you and your—Isaac.”

“He’s like a brother, but not exactly,” Derek takes pity on her and tries to explain. “It’s confusing when you see him and Cora, I know. We took him in a few years ago, and he’s one of us now.” It’s not the full explanation, but it’s enough, and he’s not going to go into the details of how they ended up with a thirteen year old boy tagging along with them five years back.

In the end, Laura’s soft hearted. That’s what it all boils down to, in Derek’s mind. The fledgling thing between Cora and Isaac? That’s still barely begun and has no bearing on what Isaac is to the Hales. It doesn’t change a thing about their family.

Melissa tilts her head, nodding faintly. “If you’re sure you’re up for it, I’ll tell them they can come on in. But if you find yourself getting tired, throw them back out again. _All_ of them.” She gives Laura a pointed look. “You’re going to do a lot of sleeping, and your body needs the rest to heal. Take care of it and don’t push yourself.”

“Small world,” Laura murmurs as Melissa leaves. “Although I guess that explains how Scott knew life-saving techniques.”

Derek doesn’t get the chance to reply before the door bursts open again and a flood of people come in. He vaguely recognizes them from the beach—the group of teens that look more like models than surfers that Cora had spent time talking to. Isaac has one arm around Cora’s shoulders, but is in the middle of a conversation with a guy with a crooked chin, floppy hair and darkly tanned skin.

There are two girls in the group—the redhead that Cora pointed out, and another taller girl with long dark curly hair and a vaguely familiar face. A pair of twins, someone who looks like he should be modeling for Ambercrombie and Fitch, and a guy with a kind smile and dimples and who reminds Derek of Hawaii round out the group.

The introductions come quickly, with Cora giving names to the faces that Derek hopes he’ll be able to remember sometime later. Now that he’s awake, a dull ache is settling in behind his eyes and he figures he has his surf board to thank for that. He focuses in on Scott and Isaac. “Thank you for saving my ass.”

“Dude, Ethan and Aidan pulled you out of the water, we just made sure you were breathing,” Scott says, gesturing at the twins. “You were a dead weight when they finally got you. I’m glad you made it. You went down like you’d been hit by a ton of bricks, just fell off that board.” He shakes his head, muttering, “Dude. Never seen anything like it.”

“I’d expected better,” Jackson says dryly, flinching when Lydia elbows him sharply. “What? He’s on the circuit. Supposedly he’s good. If that’s what passes for competition ready these days, I don’t know why we aren’t _all_ traveling around the country.”

“World,” Laura corrects, and Jackson rolls his eyes.

Derek knows the type. Pretty boys who think they can get sponsors with looks rather than talent. Nothing worth worrying over.

“There’ll be other competitions.” Danny leans back against the wall, Ethan’s arm wrapped around his waist. “You been in Hawaii?”

It’s a welcome sidetrack, not talking about his head or his accident, or whether he’s worthy after losing so spectacularly. It turns out Danny’s from a long line of surfers and Derek’s met some of his family. He starts telling stories from around the world, comparing what he’s seen to what Danny’s heard, as they build up a view of the world of competitive surfing to share with the others.

The kids aren’t bad, but they’re _kids_ , and it seems strange to see the world from their perspective. Except for Isaac and Cora, they all seem so new and fresh and naive. On the other hand, Derek can see the difference in the way Cora and Isaac interact with them, as if some of their jaded nature is stripped away, giving them a chance at a childhood neither of them ever really had.

He glances at Laura and sees the smile lingering around her lips, the way she nods slightly when Isaac says something, and the amusement at the way Cora nudges Jackson when he tosses off a careless joking insult.

Derek forgets sometimes how young Cora and Isaac are. Barely eighteen, they’ve been home schooled and are now ready to be adults or to head off into the second childhood of college. Cora just wants to surf, but Isaac wants an education. Derek wonders if she might change her mind if they stay here with these kids for a while, and then wonders how he’d feel about losing her company on the circuit.

It’s not as if they have a choice, in the end. Derek’s stuck in this bed for another twenty four hours at least, and on restricted travel after that. He might as well get used to the idea that these people are going to have an impact on his life, whether he wants it or not.

#

Derek floats in and out of consciousness; every time he wakes up, there’s a different crowd waiting to invade the room. Laura tells him that she herds them out, but no one seems to really want to leave until Cora and Isaac are willing to go with them. It’s almost unnerving the way the teenagers have adopted his family, but Derek is glad they have the distraction while he’s stuck here.

Eventually he wakes to find only Laura there, reclining in the uncomfortable hospital chair, the world outside the windows gone dark. Derek feels the ache in his head and lungs, but he can think more clearly than he has since the accident, and he takes a moment to just enjoy it while Laura naps.

He moves, and she wakes up, sitting up to lean forward and touch his hand. “Hey,” she says. “The kids dragged Cora and Isaac out to dinner and claimed they were going to make them eat and blow off some steam for a while. They’ve all been here for almost 48 hours straight at this point.”

It doesn’t seem like that long, and Derek frowns, brows furrowing deeply. “It hasn’t been two days.”

Laura tilts her head, checks her watch and makes a face. “By the time you got into this room it was pretty late. But you went under five days ago, Derek, and you woke up for the first time after we got here two days ago. When you’re feeling better, we need to talk about what happened.”

He sees the look on her face, the worry that adds lines around her eyes, and he feels like he’s sixteen and about to be chastised by the sister who acts as his mother. His gaze drops to the side.

“You were talking about seeing someone under the water,” she says quietly. “About hearing something. Derek, if the stress—”

“I was delirious.” He remembers that she said that, that she had said he was delirious for _hours_. “You can’t possibly take anything I said seriously.”

“You seemed to be pretty serious about it,” Laura says dryly. “So why don’t you tell me just how much I should be worried.”

Derek sifts back through memories, almost clear in the recesses of his mind. He remembers the song; he’s heard it before, but never so clearly, never pulling him under the way this one did. He remember wide brown eyes, skin dotted with moles, and a hand reaching towards him before the stranger flipped in the water and swam away, tail flapping beneath the water.

Laura sighs. “Derek.”

“I’m okay. I’m not losing my mind.”

“No, just competitions you should be able to win in your sleep,” she points out. “You’re not the first surfer to start talking like a sailor that’s been blinded by the sun on the water, but I know you know better. This is reality, Derek.”

“I know.” He knows better than anyone just how real it can be, how real _people_ are. He knows to be wary, to keep everything to himself. He knows not to trust, not to open up, and still… he knows what he saw, and there was someone under the water with him. Someone with a _tail_.

Laura’s fingers curl around his, holding on. “I was talking to Melissa earlier, and she knows a guy who might be able to help. And he’s interested in meeting with you, too. Dr. Deaton said you can come by tomorrow morning and talk to him.” She goes silent for a moment, her thumb sliding along his skin. “I know you don’t want to talk to anyone, but after everything we’ve been through… maybe it’s coming to a head, Derek. And I don’t want to risk losing you, too.”

The door opens after a brief knock, and Melissa stands there with a small basket in one hand. “Sorry to interrupt, but there’s someone here for Laura and it’s time for another round of vitals for Derek.” She nudges the door open to allow herself and someone Derek only vaguely recognizes into the room. The stranger hovers near the door, gaze shifting between Derek and Laura before he finally steps forward.

“Jordan Parrish,” he introduces himself. “I thought Laura might want to get something to eat.”

“Yeah, I don’t get my meals in bed the way you do.” Laura pushes out of the seat, wincing, and Derek gets the feeling she’s spent far too much time in that chair. “Will you be okay here on your own, Derek, if I go out and get some food? I can make arrangements with Deaton and take you over there tomorrow after you get out of here, then you can go back to the hotel and relax.”

“I do think he’ll be getting out tomorrow.” Melissa shines a light in his eyes, moves the flashlight and watches his pupillary reaction intently. “The worst of the concussion is gone, and he can sleep without monitoring. If I could, I’d let him out tonight, but I need signatures that we can’t get at this hour.”

Recognition strikes, and Derek categorizes the stranger in his mind: this is the guy Laura was flirting with before the competition, and now they are standing side by side, fingers just brushing each other as if they’re afraid to hold hands in front of Derek.

He wonders just how much has happened, how much has _changed_ while he was out of it. Five days suddenly seems like an eternity, and he knows he needs to do something about it, put himself back on track. “Would this Deaton guy come here? We don’t know how long it’ll take to get someone to sign papers tomorrow.”

“I’ll try to get your paperwork done during early rounds,” Melissa says, “but there’s a meeting room he uses sometimes when we have patients who aren’t ready to leave the hospital. You can go up there and wait for him if you’re done before he makes it over.” She hesitates a moment, glances at Laura. “It’s not hospital procedure, but I can make the appointment for Derek. You need to get out and eat, Laura.”

“Then you don’t need to worry about me.” In the last decade, Laura has taken care of him, even after they became adults, and Derek needs to find a way to move past their co-dependent relationship. He nods at Parrish, acknowledging the introduction and the way he hovers close to Laura. “Go out. _Enjoy yourself_.” It feels odd, telling his sister to go out and get laid, when they’ve both been so careful since… since they’ve both been so careful. Still. She needs to have time to herself. “I’m fine here, not going anywhere, and it seems like Cora and Isaac are doing okay on their own. So go out. Have fun.”

 _Act your age, not like you’re a mom with two adult children_. The words aren’t there, but Laura seems to hear them anyway, glancing between Derek and Parrish.

“If you’re sure.”

“He’s sure,” Melissa says. “Now go. And if you see my son, tell him to take care of your kids and that the guest room is made up and ready if they’d like to stay there instead of in your hotel room. Plenty of pizza in the freezer and popcorn in the cabinets; they can have a movie night.”

Apparently Derek isn’t the only one trying to get Laura laid, and he has no idea what he thinks about that.

Laura opens her mouth, but Melissa holds up her hand. “Don’t try to mom a mom,” she cautions, and Laura laughs at that. There is time enough for hugs, before Laura and Parrish are shooed out the door.

Melissa fastens the blood pressure cuff around Derek’s upper arm. “He’s a good kid,” she says with a nod at the door. “Parrish, I mean. He’s older than my son—younger than your sister, if I’ve read it right. But he’s a good one, and he’ll treat her right. Works for the local sheriff.”

“Is that still Sheriff Stilinski?” The words slip out before Derek considers what it sounds like, that he knows the history of this place.

Melissa’s hand stills, the cuff too tight around his arm before she resumes, silent while she listens to his pulse, lets the air out before she finally releases it. “John’s still the sheriff, yes. You’ve had a run-in with the law in Beacon Hills before?”

“I was born here.” Derek gives her a moment, stays very carefully still while he waits for her to figure it out, and he sees the moment she realizes. His smile is thin when he says. “Yes, we are _those_ Hales.”

Her fingers are light against his arm. “I’m sorry, Derek. Being back here can’t be easy for you.” She frowns then, tugs her hand back as she sifts through the things in the basket that she carries, bringing out a needle. “Dr. Deaton knew your mother, once upon a time. I remember him being very upset after—”

“It’s hard, yes, but easier if I don’t talk about it,” Derek says, tone sharp enough that Melissa looks away and he feels bad about it.

She nods quietly. “For what it’s worth then, welcome home.”

Derek can’t agree with the sentiment—Beacon Hills doesn’t feel _welcoming_. More like a tar pit, ready to suck his sisters and himself back into it and never let them go, and he doesn’t want to think back on it, or remember. Every time he comes here, something happens, and just this once he’d like to get out without feeling like he’s been hit by a truck.

#

Melissa is as good as her word, and Derek finishes signing the papers before breakfast is delivered. He packs up his few things and makes his way to the cafeteria to grab a bagel and juice before he heads up to the _Fischer Instructional Ward_. It’s on the third floor east of the Beacon Hills hospital, and he is buzzed in through double doors into an open area with a nurse’s station and a waiting area with several chairs and one teenage boy snoozing with his arms crossed and his head ducked down. When Derek explains that he’s there to meet with Dr. Deaton, they usher him into one of the side rooms that holds only two comfortable chairs, a sofa, and a coffee table. 

Derek sits and tries to awkwardly manage his breakfast without getting crumbs on the table. He’s starving, and he knows it’s his own fault for getting himself released before breakfast was delivered, but he didn’t want to spend another day in that room. He still feels cooped up, frustrated after nearly a week without the ocean. It makes him itch to paddle out, ride a wave, and knowing that it’s a solid hour’s drive away is killing him right now.

He paces as soon as he finishes the bagel, not sure how long it is before there’s a sharp knock and the door opens, and Derek turns to greet him, words dying in his throat as he frowns at the man instead.

Derek recognizes him. Not by name, but by face, a familiar kind, mild visage that he remembers around the house. He pauses with his hand out, about to reach, and then lets his hand drop.

“Derek Hale,” the man says. “I’m Dr. Deaton. I remember your family fondly.”

“You were at our house.”

Deaton nods. “I was indeed. I’m not surprised if you don’t remember me—you had a large, extended family, and there were many who were there without interacting with the children. Given time, we would have come to know each other.”

“Why?” Derek ignores the hand that Deaton now offers, uncertain about this interloper from his past. 

“Because I saw many of your family on a professional basis.” Deaton takes a seat in one of the chairs, motions for Derek to take the other but doesn’t seem perturbed when Derek ignores him in favor of standing behind it, as if it is a wall between him and the past.

“So you’re saying Hales are crazy.” Derek’s tone is flat. This guy has to be a therapist, has to be digging into his psychology and his hallucinations of music and a person under the water. “Why didn’t anyone bother to tell us that we had a history of mental illness? Why didn’t you reach out before now?”

“You left.” The words are quiet and mild, without reproach. “And it isn’t a history of mental illness, although as you know, there was that as well. I do not think we can say that Peter was entirely healthy.”

A muscle twitches in Derek’s jaw as he clamps it shut. “I don’t want to talk about it.” It’s too close, too raw, and even after a decade, it still hurts. “Change the subject.”

“I’m here for you, Derek.” Deaton sits back, hands clasped. “Your sister is worried about you.”

“I’m not insane.” Derek decides on the couch, dropping onto it as far from Deaton as he can. “I heard music, and there was someone underwater with me. He was probably trying to rescue me.” He’s been thinking about it a lot, and there’s a part of him that’s tempted to go back under, see if he can find that same face again, but he figures he shouldn’t mention that. If Laura’s worried about him now, she’d be worse if she thought he might try to drown himself on purpose.

“The song of the sea is a common myth among sailors,” Deaton says. “Are you aware of the myth of the siren, Derek?”

“Beautiful women luring sailors to their death on the rocks in Greece?” Derek knows his mythology; it’s always been one of his favorite topics, ever since his mother read stories from classical mythology to himself and Laura before bed. “So you’re trying to say I _am_ insane and that I’m hearing things.”

Deaton smiles, and it’s not a reassuring expression. When Deaton leans forward, Derek presses back slightly into the sofa, trying to look as if he’s not retreating. “I am saying that there is a sound basis behind all myth,” Deaton says quietly. “Hearing the song is not at all unusual, but there are few that actually see those who sing and survive.”

Derek blinks and shakes his head. “I am beginning to think that this is a case of the mad treating the mad,” he says dryly. “Aren’t you supposed to be talking me out of my delusions, not catering to them?”

“There is a reason Melissa suggested that I speak with you, Derek.” Deaton reaches into his pocket and withdraws a small, battered book, the leather cover old and the pages wrinkled at the edges. He holds it out and when Derek doesn’t take it, Deaton sets it on the coffee table and nudges it toward him. “This is a book I shared with your mother. I think you might find it interesting, and I suggest you read it before our next meeting.”

“What makes you think we’ll be meeting again?” Derek has an agenda in his head, and he plans to leave Beacon Hills as soon as he can. They’ll have to drive hard up the coast to keep up with the circuit and he’ll miss a competition or two thanks to his concussion, but he can be back on the waves and winning soon enough.

“This is Beacon Hills, and it is your home.” Deaton speaks as if it is a given that the Hales will simply settle back into this place that destroyed their family, and Derek raises both eyebrows because _no_ , that is not going to happen. Deaton only smiles. “Our sheriff’s deputy surfs, and something in him struck a chord with your elder sister. Not to mention the ties that have already developed between your younger siblings and the youngsters of this town. Do you wish to tear them away from those relationships before they have a chance to become something more solid and true?”

The muscle in Derek’s jaw twitches. “You sound like they are already settling in to stay.”

Deaton’s smile widens, calm and collected, as if he holds all the best cards. “And of course, if you leave, you will never see the young man beneath the waves again.”

Derek’s eyes close, because that dig strikes deeply. “We’ll be here for a little while,” he finally agrees, the words dragged out of him. “Laura said something about a hotel room.”

“There are places for let which would be easier on your budget than a hotel,” Deaton offers. “I could supply a list, should you be interested.”

“Why do you want us to stay here?” Because Derek can see that Deaton does, can hear it underlying every word he says. There is an ulterior motive here, and it makes Derek’s skin itch.

“Hales belong in Beacon Hills.” Deaton pushes to his feet, leaves the book on the table for Derek. “Some of you may leave again, and some may choose to stay. But you need to unravel what it is that you saw, Derek, and you need to understand that you are not insane.”

“Are you a psychologist at all?” Derek asks, because he’s spoken to therapists before, and it wasn’t like this. They never fed into his fears or anxiety, they never enhanced his issues.

“I’ll forward that list to Laura at your hotel.” Deaton’s response is not a reply at all. “Until then, read. And I’ll see you in two days for another appointment.” He offers a card and Derek takes it without reading it, shoving it into his pocket. “I recommend reading as much as you can before then.” Deaton nods at the book. “I’m certain you will have questions.”

Derek already has questions, because this is not at all what he expected. But Deaton’s leaving, and Derek knows that Laura will be there to pick him up soon, which means this isn’t the time to ask. So he just picks up the little book and shoves it in his back pocket, careful not to wrinkle the pages. He might read it later, or he might not. He hasn’t decided yet if Deaton’s attitude makes him feel better about what he saw or worse.

Maybe it’s just Beacon Hills. Maybe everyone’s a little bit mad here. Derek wouldn’t be entirely surprised either way.

#

The hotel room is a mess. Laura’s things are all over one bed, and Cora’s and Isaac’s are on the other. Derek feels like he should say something about that, but as soon as he opens his mouth, Laura puts a hand on his shoulder and he closes it again.

“They aren’t going to do anything with us in the room,” she says, and she has a point. It would be far worse if they got a second room, and instead of splitting boys and girls, Cora and Isaac took one over. 

He tilts his head in agreement and just dumps his things on the floor by the couch. It’s not as if he needs to keep his back in shape for surfing anyway right now; he can manage a few night’s discomfort. “Deaton says he could get us a list of places to let if we’re staying for long,” he says quietly, and he can feel the way Laura’s gaze pins him sharply between the shoulder blades.

“Did you want to stay?”

The summer is spinning away; such a short time that they can go up the coast and catch good waves in the northern Pacific, before they leave the States for better fall and winter weather. By all rights, they should leave now, and Cora should tell those models that if they’re serious, they should all go up the coast together. Get on the circuit, ride the waves and get their names out there.

But the face under the water is _here_.

Derek ducks his head, shrugs one shoulder. “For now.”

Laura sits on the bed and pats the space next to her, waiting until Derek sits as well. “It’s Beacon Hills.” She has an open expression, cautious, and Derek appreciates that she’s letting him decide whether to get into the depth of this conversation.

“You’d remember Deaton.” It’s a backwards way into it. “He used to be there, sometimes, friends with the adults. I remembered his face as soon as I saw him. And he seems to think some of us might stay here for good. Something about Hales belonging in Beacon Hills.”

“I met him, and yes, I remembered him. He and Dad used to talk philosophy or something, and Peter hated him, which is probably why you didn’t know his name.” Laura twists her fingers together, voice dropping low. “He was really good friends with Mom. He was actually at the funeral, before we left. He said that he had something for us, when we were ready. I just never decided we were ready, and you didn’t want to come back, for obvious reasons.” She pauses, glances over at him. “You should know something: Allison’s an Argent.”

It doesn’t bother Derek like he thought it would. “Okay,” he says with another shallow shrug. “She’s not the one that’s in jail, so that’s fine. And I really don’t want to rehash history. If we’re in Beacon Hills, I want to move forward. Figure out how we fit now, because what we had here is gone. The house, our family—all of it. Except this.” He snags the bag of things he left the hospital with to bring it closer to him and pull out the book Deaton gave him. “This might be what he told you about ten years ago.”

“It’s a book.” Laura flips it open, moving more slowly when she realizes how old it is. “This is handwritten, Derek. Look.” On the opening page is a triskele that matches the one Derek has on his back, the page around it faded and yellow, faintly browned at the edges. Beneath it is a signature and Derek reaches out, brushes his fingers against the ink. 

“Emmett Avery Hale,” he says slowly. “Son of Matthias Hale and Julianna Avery, which started the tradition of the eldest son taking his mother’s maiden name for a middle name.”

“Until you.” Laura nudges his shoulder.

“I just don’t _have_ a middle name, because Dad took Mom’s name since she was the last Hale.” It’s an old and well-worn story, for all that they haven’t really talked about it in a decade. Just touching the signature brings it all back, learning the history of the Hales. “There was a time when we could recite the Hale lineage back to the old country.”

“I bet we still could, if we tried,” Laura says dryly. “Cora has no idea how lucky she is that she was too young to learn it all.”

“She had the recent generations memorized. We started when we were what, five? Around the time we could read.” Derek remembers the drawing of a tree that hung in the foyer of their home, names intertwined within it to show the four most recent generations of Hales. “When that picture burned…” He can’t finish the though, but when Laura squeezes his hand, he’s pretty sure she gets it.

The picture was symbolic. Somehow, if it had survived, it would have been like he had something left. Like they had something to hold on to.

Laura places the book in his hands, turns the page to the next where there is a drawing of a tree he recognizes, only this time instead of names, there are people perched in the branches, dancing around the thick trunk. Naked.

“Deaton isn’t really a therapist, is he.” It’s not a question, and Derek doesn’t expect an answer.

“Actually, he’s a vet.” Laura purses her lips. “Scott mentioned you to him, and Melissa knows he’s connected to the Hales.”

“This has nothing to do with healing my mind.” Derek flips through the pages slowly, being careful when edges feel brittle under his fingers. “This has _everything_ to do with what I saw.”

When he glances at Laura her gaze is even, her lips still pursed. There are lines at the corners of her eyes, more than there should be when she’s only twenty-eight years old. She reaches out, touches the side of his face with the back of her fingertips. “If this was Mom’s book, and it has something to do with what you saw, then maybe we should stay here. I’ll talk to Deaton about finding a place better to stay than here. We need a kitchen; we’re already sick of takeout.”

“It’s better than hospital food.”

“And yet, it’s still not served in bed; I have to go get it and pay for it.”

Derek snorts. “Oh, we’ll be paying for that hospital food when the bill comes, never fear. Thank God for a well-padded savings account.” It’s the one thing they’ve never had to worry about, not before the fire and not after. Hales have money, and plenty of it. 

He isn’t reading the book as he pages through it, simply taking note of the images and some of the words. He realizes that it is segregated into parts, beginning with _earth_ and moving on to _air_ , then through _fire_ and _water_. He skips past water, knowing he will come back to it, but he is curious what the last few pages are. He recognizes the four elements, but he’s never seen _spirit_ before.

“The shapeshifter is a true chameleon,” Laura reads over his shoulder, leaning against him. “There are many shifters of lore, many stories which are true. In the end, the core remains the same: a shifter may change its shape at will, not bound by one spirit or by one desire. Any shape is within reach, be it air, earth, fire, or water. The shapeshifter embodies the spirit of the supernatural, and is thus central to its lore. The shifter is the alpha and the omega, the beginning and the end. It is the most fearsome of all creatures, and thus king of the supernatural world.”

“Like a lion in the jungle,” Derek says dryly. “You don’t believe this, do you?”

“I’m not the one looking for a man who lives under the water.” Laura covers Derek’s hands with hers, closing the book. “Put the book away, Derek. Cora wants us to go out with her friends tonight, and we are going to do something so desperately normal that we feel like humans again.”

“I want to hit the waves this weekend.” Derek has to think about what day it is, when the weekend even _is_.

“I should say no, since Melissa said you need some time off, but I know you won’t listen. But I don’t want you going alone.” Laura’s tone is firm. “No arguments, baby brother. Besides, I think any of us would take the excuse to get out as well.”

Derek isn’t sure how Laura plans to explain this to anyone else. Or if they even have to explain it. He doesn’t actually _care_ if he has to take an entire entourage of surfer wannabes, as long as he gets his chance to get on the waves again. And under them.

He puts the book carefully into his bag, tucking it under several shirts, making sure it’s safe. “Fine. Let’s go be social. It’s like you developed an entire life while I was unconscious.”

“You nearly drowning may be the best thing that ever happened to us,” she teases. 

It occurs to Derek that every time their lives have changed, he’s somehow been at the center of it. Why not this time as well?

#

Somehow they end up at the McCall house, spread across the living room in comfortable piles. Derek isn’t sure how he ended up sharing a recliner with his sister and Isaac, but they both sprawl over him without regard for personal space, Cora gesturing as she speaks, and Isaac grabbing her hand before she belts Derek in the nose.

He doesn’t need to talk, not with this crowd. Laura is equally silent, smiling as she sits off to one side, comfortable between Parrish’s bent legs. There are empty beer cans everywhere, but not everyone is drinking. Lydia hasn’t touched a drop, nor has Scott, and while Laura’s on her third drink, Parrish had one when they arrived and has been drinking soda since.

“I know what we need to do.” Lydia interrupts Jackson mid-sentence, while he has one hand raised to illustrate a point. Aidan reaches out to nudge his hand down, then touches his lips before Jackson can speak again. Lydia smiles her approval, leaning forward from where she sits with both of them. “We need to take Cora and Isaac into the Preserve.” She tilts her head, and Derek can already see that among this crew she is their queen. “Derek and Laura can come as well. Parrish?”

“Jordan,” he says. “You make me feel old every time you call me by my last name.”

“You’re a cop,” Aidan says.

“Deputy.” Jordan’s smile is easy and lazy. “And I’m not on duty tonight. If I were, I’d be busting an entire room full of under twenty-ones for illegal imbibing of alcohol, and that’s just not worth it. As long as none of the ones who’ve been drinking get behind the wheel.”

Derek doesn’t want to go into the Preserve; he has no idea if these younger people have put together the name and the house yet. They may not even remember it. But he’s not going to let Cora go there alone and possibly remember something from a decade ago. They need to be there to pick up the pieces, just in case. He glances at Laura, nods when she raises her eyebrows. “I’ll drive,” he says quietly. “We’ve got the van.”

They manage to squeeze into three cars, with Jordan, Derek, and Lydia driving. Derek ends up with Scott and Allison in the van along with Cora and Isaac, and he can see the bond that has already formed between Scott and Isaac. Scott’s talking about bringing Isaac along to his job the next day, something he’s apparently already done before.

Derek pulls out of the parking lot, starts heading for the Preserve without waiting to follow Lydia. It may have been ten years, but he still remembers the way from when his father first taught him to drive. As loud as Scott and Isaac are as he travels the familiar path, Allison and Cora are quiet. Cora stares out the window in the back, while Allison sits in the front seat and when Derek glances over, she’s watching him.

When he stops at a light, he looks at her more obviously, and she tilts her head. He remembers seeing her smile before, cherubic and sweet, but this serious look makes her _look_ like an Argent. He presses his lips together and turns back to watch the road as the light turns green, and guns the engine of the van to peel out quickly.

There is a conversation coming that he doesn’t want to have, even with the sympathetic tilt of her sad smile, or the way her gaze softens.

There’s a point when they reach the edge of town, and the car behind him honks repeatedly, until Derek pulls over to let Lydia pass him, Jordan in her wake. He pulls back out with a small noise of irritation that shifts to confusion when she turns right instead of left, taking a barely worn trail into the Preserve that travels away from the burnt husk of his home. He’d somehow assumed that the kids of the town would have taken over the ruins as their space to hang out, not that they’d find something else within the woods.

They drive through the woods, slow and steady, Lydia’s high beams lighting the way. She goes for about a mile, then simply stops, cutting the engine and climbing out of the car.

“We walk the rest of the way,” Allison says, and Derek is still confused because this is _not_ the way to where he thought they were going.

Scott glances at them and Allison waves him on; he joins Isaac and Cora, returning to a conversation about how much schooling is needed before applying for vet school, and about his internship with Deaton that he’s had since he was sixteen.

“We never go to the house,” Allison says, and Derek nods to let her know he’s heard her. 

She seems to be expecting some kind of a response, so he grunts softly, which brings a flicker of an almost smile to her lips. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. My aunt is more than a little insane.”

“So was my uncle.” The muscle in his jaw goes tight the way it always does when the past is brought up. “He was still my best friend.”

“Same with me and Kate.” Allison has her hands in the pockets of her hoodie, her shoulders slightly hunched while they walk. “It doesn’t change the fact that they were nuts, and your family paid the price. My grandfather’s in a home, too, now, because he was encouraging her to break out of jail and finish the job. It’s pretty obvious that insanity was genetic in my family, but thankfully it missed me and my dad.” For a moment it looks like she’s going to say something else, then she raises her hand as if to say _hang on a moment_ and darts forward to catch up with Scott, breaking through the tree line into a clearing with him.

Derek has never been to this part of the Preserve before, and he thought he’d been _everywhere_. He grew up on this land—several acres of private Hale property that edged along the public Preserve—and he ran through the woods as a kid. They were wild children, a huge family in a huge house, with relatives nearby in their own houses on the same property, and they were encouraged to be independent. He glances over at Laura who is standing, head lifted, staring into the branches of a huge tree, her expression gobsmacked.

Derek figures he has to look the same because that tree… “That’s our tree,” he says quietly. “That’s the Hale tree.”

Laura reaches out, grabbing on to Jordan’s hand and squeezing hard enough that Derek sees Jordan wince. “It’s our tree,” she confirms. “That’s the one from the picture.”

The names bubble up in his mind as he looks into the branches, and he lets them slip out, over his lips. He names his father, his mother, his siblings who are no longer here and the cousins who are likewise gone. He whispers them under his breath, swears he hears them rustle along the wind, sifting into the leaves until they echo and he realizes that Laura is reciting it with him, Cora joining in when they name people she remembers.

By the time they are done, tears streak Cora’s cheeks and Isaac pulls her in, burying her face against his chest while she pounds him with her fist. Laura sniffles into the silence, and Derek realizes that everyone else is watching them. Staring at them.

“Local legend says that there are telluric currents all over Beacon Hills.” Danny breaks the silence with his words. “This tree is the epicenter of the currents, the most powerful place in the county. Probably in all of California.”

“It’s a myth,” Jackson snarks, rolling his eyes, but Derek can’t help but remember the book back in his hotel room. He glances over to see Laura looking at him, her fingers still tightly tangled with Jordan’s, and she nods slightly.

“Myth or not, Beacon Hills is weird,” Scott says. “Always has been. It’s why I’ll come back to help Deaton after I graduate as a vet.”

Derek isn’t sure who moves first, but it’s like a wave goes through the group and they slowly rearrange themselves on the ground on one side of the tree. Derek ends up with his back to it, the bark biting into him through his shirt, and he likes the way it feels as if it anchors him to his history. He draws his knees up, lets his arms rest against them, hands loose in the air. He tastes the world around him and lets himself find his balance as if he’s on the waves, teetering in the violence of the water.

It feels good, like he’s okay right now.

Lydia organizes Jackson and Aidan into gathering wood for a fire that Ethan and Danny put together. The blaze is burning brightly soon after, even though Scott admits that it’s not legal to make a campfire in the Preserve. They all dart glances at Jordan who comments idly, “There are about twelve gallons of water in the trunk of my car.” He tosses his keys to Isaac. “Go get six of them, keep them nearby. We’ll douse the fire when we’re done.”

“Are you _certain_ you’re law enforcement?” Cora asks.

Jordan leans forward, tosses a stick into the flames. “Fire doesn’t worry me, and there’s nothing I can do to stop teenagers from drinking. I know how to pick my battles, Cora, and I don’t worry about fighting the things I can’t avoid. Leaves me sharp to catch the real problems.”

“What else is there?” Derek asks idly. He doesn’t want the attention on Jordan; he wants Laura to just relax and be a _person_ tonight, not the oldest in the group. Not the temporary _mom_ with her law enforcement boyfriend. “What other weird things happen in Beacon Hills?”

Scott exchanges a look with Jackson, who shrugs and turns pointedly away to talk to Aidan. “There were some animal attacks during our sophomore year,” Scott says slowly.

“Animal attacks aren’t strange, depending on where you are,” Laura points out. “We’ve been to Australia. I’m pretty sure the whole continent is out to get you.”

“These were wolf attacks.” Lydia’s tone is gently sharp. “There are no wolves in California. The police tried to pass it off as a mountain lion—even went as far as to hunt one and bring it back to Beacon Hills and declare the town safe—but that didn’t match with the wolf hairs found at the scene, nor the bite and claw patterns, nor the size of the creature attacking.”

“Before my time,” Jordan comments.

“My best friend was determined he was going to find the answer,” Scott says, raising a bottle of beer high over his head as if toasting the sky. Allison takes it from him to take a gulp, and when she hands it back, Scott drinks the rest down. “Then the attacks just stopped.” He’s somber as he places the bottle gently on the ground. “That’s when people started disappearing.”

“Are you sure you want to stay here?” Laura laughs when Jordan pulls her closer, saying he’ll protect her, but Derek can hear the seriousness in her words. Beacon Hills has never done them any favors, but at the same time, he needs to know what’s going on. He just shrugs in response; he’ll figure it out eventually.

“How many people disappeared?” Cora has managed to arrange herself so that she leans back against Isaac but has her feet draped over Scott’s lap, Allison’s arm holding her ankles. Cora idly pets Isaac’s hip, leaning into his touch with his hand against her arm.

Scott murmurs something under his breath, and Ethan and Danny lean a little closer as they confer.

“Seven,” Scott says in the end. “Seven teenagers disappeared that spring, including the sheriff’s son. My best friend.”

Derek expects to be able to taste the pain on the wind, the way he knows what grief feels like, but it’s not there. Scott is relaxed, his expression still calm albeit hooded. None of them are upset, and Derek would bet his surfboard that they knew more than one of the teenagers who simply disappeared. Which means there’s nothing simple about it.

He grunts a small sound of acknowledgement, and Scott nods as if he’s said something important. Danny brings out a bag of marshmallows from somewhere, while Ethan and Aidan offer to collect sticks, and the conversation shifts away from the strangeness of Beacon Hills as sweet sugar is soon roasted.

“I heard once that not only is this the epicenter of the telluric currents, but the tree is the beacon that Beacon Hills is named after.” Lydia speaks quietly, sitting by Derek’s elbow, and he wonders when she managed to approach. “That everyone who belongs here is called to be here. It’s not just _here_ ,” she says. “It’s everywhere within the county, and that extends all the way to the sea.” She pats his forearm, and he’s positive there is a message in her statement, but she doesn’t stick around long enough for him to acknowledge it.

All he knows is he needs to get back in the water, wash the doubt from his skin, and figure out what he’s really doing here.

#

Derek painstakingly packs his gear in the back of the van, making sure nothing is missing, and everything is still in good condition after having been stored for more than a week. He runs his hand over the waxed wood, breathing more easily just from that one touch than from anything else since he woke up in the hospital.

“Get in the van!” Laura yells out, and he claims the front passenger seat before Isaac can insist that his long legs need the room. It’s a lie; Isaac’s always happier with Cora in the back, even squeezed in with Allison, Scott, and all of their equipment.

“You look peaceful.” Laura knocks a hand into his thigh before she shifts the van into drive. “Glad to get back out on the water?”

“It’s where I’ve been for ten years,” he says, because she _knows_ that. “It feels like we’re going home. We surfed before the fire, and we went into that world after it. Beacon Hills is supposed to be home, but the ocean is where home really is.”

When he glances over because the van hasn’t moved, she’s staring at him, brows furrowed, tongue licking at her lip. She presses her lips together, makes a face.

“What?”

“Some days I’m afraid the ocean is going to win,” she says quietly. “And it’s worse now than ever.”

He snorts softly. “I’ve been surfing since I could walk, Laura. The ocean is never going to win. I’ll always come back up.”

“Yeah, well, don’t scare me again.” She thumps his shoulder then turns away, staring at the road as she pulls out.

They’ve got a solid hour before they reach the beach and meet up with the others. Derek props his feet on the dashboard, ignoring Laura’s insistence that he put them down. He has some time now to read, and he’s going to take advantage of it, and use it as a way to tune the others out.

He looks at the cover more closely, the finely tooled and aged leather and the design that has been worked into it. He has to do pull out his phone and do some research online, but he finally finds a replica of the image: it’s a five-fold knot from ancient druidic practice. He spends a few minutes reading about druids, absorbing information about how they are driven to find balance, and various different meanings for the knot. His favorite is the theory that there are four cardinal directions—one for each of the primary elements of earth, air, fire, and water—and that all are joined around a central knot of spirit. It suits the book that he holds, and he chooses to base his interpretations on that.

He skips the first several sections, moving straight to _water_. His fingers lightly skate over the pages as he skims them, noting that Kelpies are creatures that tread the line between _earth_ and _water_ , but that few other creatures are born to more than one element, save those who are tied to _spirit_.

He finds a reference to the telluric currents, and a note that while all creatures are tied to the energy created by those currents, the only ones that can swim within them are those that are lavaborn. He is caught by the description, intrigued by the idea that a creature that is named for being born of _earth_ and _fire_ is actually a creature of _water_ , swimming eternally from magical lake to magical lake.

Derek frowns out the window, the book held loosely in his fingers as he considers that thought. Is the ocean magical? How do the currents flow there? Is surfing a physical manifestation of mapping those currents?

He blinks again. _Lavaborn_. 

Volcanos.

 _Hawaii_.

Huh.

He files that thought away for later, and maybe a possible conversation with their resident Hawaiian. He turns the page to find a hand drawn image of a man with youthful features, a playful smile, and a tail staring back at him. And for just a moment, he can’t breathe.

“Cool book, dude.” Scott’s voice at his shoulder interrupts him, and Derek quickly closes the book, dragging a breath into his lungs. “Oh hey, I’ve seen that symbol before.” Scott points at the cover. “Dr. Deaton’s got a wrought iron piece that hangs over the door to the clinic. I always thought it was cool.”

“Iron,” Derek says quietly. He’s never gone to college, but if he had, he always thought he’d major in sociology and history, tracking how mythology and stories formed in different societies. It has always fascinated him while they’ve traveled, and he’s read extensively about some things.

Albeit never from a book that was handwritten by one of his relatives who seems to _believe_ it.

“Iron,” Scott confirms. “He had one that was wood once, when I was a kid, but he changed it from ash to iron right about the time I started working for him.”

Derek gets the feeling there are clues in his words, and wonders exactly when he went insane enough to start looking for the improbable in every day conversation. Probably right about the time he was conked on the head and went under the waves.

Maybe he’s dreaming. Maybe he never woke up that day, and this is all a hallucination.

Or maybe it’s real.

His fingers tighten on the edge of the book as Scott laughs a little. “Sorry, dude, I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I’ll stop talking so you can read.” Scott retreats into the back seat again, immediately rejoining a conversation between Isaac and Allison about archery, and Derek manages to breathe once more.

Laura glances at him. “You okay?”

“Better when we get to the water,” he replies, and her lips pinch together as she stares at the road.

She’s worried, and there isn’t anything he can do to fix it, so he goes back to the book, re-opening it to the page where he left off.

It’s not the _same_ man with a tail. That would be strange. But it’s the same style, the same sort of body and features, and it draws Derek in because if he hallucinated something that he’s never seen, and someone else drew it as well, does that make it more likely to be real?

He reads the page on mermaids, how they are true creatures of the water but some are able to become creatures of the land. There are legends that mermaids fall in love with mortals, and come to land to be with them, but their children often return to the sea, unable to deny the pull of it in their soul. Those legends never seem to end well for the mermaids, either.

He can’t imagine what that would feel like, to lose your child or your lover to the water.

He moves past the mermaids, nymphs, and other water-linked creatures to the last segment, lingering over the page about shapeshifters. He wonders what it would be like to be able to simply think about being something else and actually _be_ it.

Someone’s phone sings out, and Scott yells a moment later, “Dude, Danny says the waves are fucking awesome and wants to know where the hell we are. Jordan brought enough food to feed an army and they claimed one of the beachside grills. We are _all set_ , so let’s get this thing moving. I am ready to _go_.”

Derek expects the van to speed up, and when it doesn’t, he glances to his left. “You all right?” he asks, turning Laura’s question back on her.

He can see the lines around her eyes, the whiteness of her skin where she holds the steering wheel too tightly. The speedometer sits at exactly four miles above the speed limit and doesn’t change. She smiles thinly. “I’m fine, Derek.”

He can feel the worry, notes the touch of Cora’s fingers to Laura’s shoulder briefly. The only thing he can think to do is to shove the book back in his bag, pushing it deep enough that he won’t be tempted to drag it back out again. He leans back, crosses his arms, and closes his eyes, and tries to just let the miles pass.

#

When they arrive, Laura grabs his arm before he can follow the others out to the beach. He raises an eyebrow at her, and she narrows hers at him. “Just, be careful, Derek,” she says quietly. “And trust yourself, okay? I’m trying not to worry and I will do my damnedest to just believe in the impossible if that’s what you believe, but it’s hard. And the thing is, I remember something mom used to say: _if you’re going to believe, make sure you believe all the way, because a little bit of doubt can trip you_. Just… don’t drown on me. There are only three of us left.”

Derek gets the feeling there is something she isn’t saying, and he wants to drag her back into the van, sit her down and make her talk. But he recognizes the stubborn set of her chin, the way she holds herself as if she’s a mom and not just barely older than himself, and he knows it wouldn’t get him anywhere. So he simply nods his head, watching where the others are gathering on the beach.

“Take care of Cora,” he says, and he doesn’t know why it comes out, but it’s important. “And take care of yourself, okay? Let yourself… just have fun, Laura, okay? Have fun with Parrish.”

She winces, and her hand on his forearm squeezes. “Same. Remember that you’re still young, too.”

She lets him go, and he grabs his board and heads to the beach, not wasting time before he’s out in the water, paddling into position and waiting for a good wave.

He’s aware that people are watching him, that there are people on the beach and in the water who were here when he went under, and he can’t let that get to him. Even though he can hear the song in the distance, lingering around the edges of his mind, teasing him, he has to let it go. He just needs to let the water be his guide, find the right wave before he’s on his feet and in the tube, riding it to the end.

There’s a shout, and he sees Danny giving him a thumbs up at the end, and just like that, he feels _right_ again.

He spends more than an hour on the water before he finally paddles back in and finds something to eat. It’s strange seeing Laura more on dry land than in the water, but she’s with Parrish and she’s smiling, so Derek can’t find fault. He wonders if that means she’s found home, and surprisingly it doesn’t worry him as much as he thought it would.

After a chaotic lunch, the kids all scatter, and when Derek tries to count his small family, he spots Cora talking to Lydia as they wait for a wave, surfboards bobbing in the current, but he can’t find Isaac. He’s about to ask where he went when Allison touches his hand and points to a rocky outcrop down the beach before she runs out to join the other girls.

There’s a part of Derek that says that he should just let Isaac be, that he shouldn’t interfere. He doesn’t need to go hunt him down past the rocks, to wherever he’s gone with Scott. But at the same time, Isaac’s like a brother, and Cora _is_ his sister, and he worries that Isaac’s new friendship could come between them. So this once he’ll be the big brother and stay out of sight to eavesdrop a little, just to make sure nothing’s going to be a problem.

“Dude, it’s good to see you.” Scott’s voice is cheerful and there’s a wet sound of skin slapping skin before Scott continues. “This is my friend Isaac. I think he might be staying in Beacon Hills.”

“You’re human. You might be the only one who is.” The voice is strange, rough as if from disuse, and Derek takes a step back at the word choice. Human? Of _course_ Isaac is human. They all are.

“So your friend is insane,” Isaac says dryly. “I’d expected better from you, Scott. Ha ha, funny joke to play on the new guy. Just because I haven’t had a typical education—”

“No, wait.” Anxiety twists at Scott’s voice. “Isaac, there’s stuff I need to tell you, especially if you and Cora are staying. That book that Derek was reading? It’s all real. I _know_ it’s real, and there’s a reason Dr. Deaton has that symbol on his wall.”

“Still keeping you out with mountain ash?” The stranger’s voice is a little lighter now, teasing. “I thought you fixed that since he wanted you to keep your job.”

“Dr. Deaton keeps a lot of things out, but not me,” Scott mutters. “Yes, he fixed it to allow werewolves in. He’s the only person in town who can treat us. You _know_ that, Stiles. You’ve seen him a few times.”

There’s no response at first, just silence before the unknown voice says, “I have to go.” There’s a scuffle and a splash of something hitting the water below the stones, and Isaac’s breath hisses in.

“Your friend is…” Isaac’s voice fades without completing the sentence.

“Unusual,” Scott replies. “I’d actually wanted to talk to him about Derek.”

He could stay to listen more. He wants to stay to listen, but at the same time, if Scott wanted to talk to this other person about _Derek_ , then Derek wants to find this stranger and talk to him himself. And since he just dove in, it seems like the only way to do that is to get back out on the water. Which would be easier if he knew what he was looking for.

Because he’s pretty sure Isaac would’ve said something if he were talking to a man with a mermaid’s tail.

Derek’s halfway into the water when he realizes what Scott said: Deaton fixed something to allow _werewolves_ in.

Werewolves. Who are associated with _earth_.

There’s a skip in Derek’s heartbeat because it was said so _plainly_ , so easily, as if it had to be true. There are implications in that, implications that everything else in the book could also be true.

He paddles out far from the others, finding his own space to slip into the current, watch the water and the waves. He sits on the surfboard, closing his eyes to feel the ocean beneath him, sense the way it moves and the shift from calm to wave and back again.

And he hears it.

Low and soft, singing across the surface of the water, he hears the song.

He sings back, a call and answer that comes from deep inside his chest, not thinking, just letting the sound flow as he pushes to his feet, slips into the barrel of the wave and rides through it, skimming across the surface of the water. It feels like flying, like being _free_ for just a moment.

As the wave falls, simply water once more, Derek makes sure he’s loose from his board. He stands with his arms thrown wide, and he calls out with a single note, letting it rise and flow across the water.

There are shouts from far away, his name called in Laura’s voice. He raises one hand as if to wave, then he lets himself fall.

#

“Dude.” Something pats at Derek’s cheek, and he opens his eyes to see a man staring back at him.

Not just _a_ man, it’s _the_ man, with fawn brown eyes drawn into a confused frown, and moles spotting across his cheeks. Long fingers on the hands that reach for Derek, framing his face as the man leans close, tail flipping gently behind him.

“ _Dude_ ,” he says again, and Derek wonders how he’s hearing him so clearly under the water. “You need to breathe, or I need to take you back to shore.” For a moment, the stranger looks regretful, fingers gentle as they stroke along his cheek. “C’mon, either breathe or swim. I’ve rescued you once already, do I have to do it again?”

“I heard your song.” The words bubble out and liquid bubbles in, coating his lungs until Derek coughs twice, then inhales roughly, breathing out again uncertainly.

It makes no sense that it works, and yet, it does.

He must be hallucinating.

“I got hit by the board again,” he murmurs.

“Not this time.” The guy laughs, a sound that rings like the song of the sea. He drifts away from Derek, moving slowly through the water. “This time you jumped.”

“I was looking for you.” Derek watches the way his face changes, expression shifting from amused to wide-eyed and open-mouthed. The tail flips and suddenly the man is right there in his face, touching him again, forehead to forehead, eye to eye.

“You were looking for me?” 

Fingers glide along Derek’s throat, tickling and making his breath hitch. He reaches up to touch the same space, feeling ridges in his skin that weren’t there before.

“Gills,” the merman says, and he reaches for Derek’s hand, grasping it tightly. “You aren’t one of _us_ but I can see that you aren’t human, either. Come with me.”

The tail moves him through the water quickly, and Derek kicks his feet, lets himself be dragged along in his wake. They go deeper and deeper, down to where the water is a little darker, the sky a shimmer on the surface of the water long above him. Derek wonders if they are looking for him, and he remembers Laura asking him not to drown.

“She knew,” he says quietly, and the merman pauses and turns to look at him.

“Who knew what?” He tugs at Derek’s hand. “We should get to my home. We can talk more there.”

There are a number of things wrong with this, with the entire situation, but at the same time, it _works_. Derek nods and follows where the other man leads, under the water and dropping into a ridge to find a cave. It’s still full of water, but there’s a place to stand, a place to almost pretend he’s on dry land and he’s grateful for it. He gains his balance, watches as the merman swims to a crack in the cave and yells out.

“Erica! Boyd! I need you to go topside and talk to Scott!”

“I don’t want to have feet today!” There’s a splash in the distance, and a girl swims into view, her top half entirely naked, tail at the bottom, and a wild riot of blond curls spreading out around her as she moves. “Uh. Stiles. Are you trying to _kill_ the human?”

“He’s not human.” Stiles swims to Derek’s side, gestures at his throat. “Gills. I don’t know what he is, but he’s fine so far. Which means I need you to go up and talk to Scott, let him know that this particular not-entirely-human isn’t dead. Have him tell…” His voice trails off as he cocks his head, waits for Derek to say something.

“Laura,” Derek says slowly, still parsing this. Because this is _Stiles_ , who was talking to _Scott_ , who called Isaac human. “Scott knows Laura. You need to tell Laura that I’m okay. Derek. I’m Derek.”

“Of course you are, pretty boy.” Erica swims around him, one hand touching his cheek. “He’s pretty, Stiles, I can see why you stole him. But what if he’d died?”

“He’s the guy I saved.” Stiles crosses his arms, floats as if he’s sitting back on his tail. “And I did not _steal_ him. Scott told me he was doing okay, and I did _not_ expect him to come diving back under the water. Drowning on purpose defeats the purpose of _not_ drowning, y’know?”

“Is this the guy you’ve been talking about since—”

Stiles intercepts the latest merman as soon as he emerges from the crack in the wall, wrapping one hand across his mouth with a, “Hush, Boyd. This is _the guy I saved_. Derek.” He smiles faintly. “Derek, this is Boyd, and that’s Erica. Best friends down here. Only ones I kept under the sea.”

It’s too much information, and Derek’s head is starting to spin. He sits down, little black spots behind his vision sparking. He feels something burn in his lungs, in his neck, and the world settles a bit.

 _Make sure you believe_.

He thinks he knows what Laura wasn’t telling him. Knows that she expected him to go looking, that she knew he’d be fine and he wonders how long she _has_ known. Not long, he thinks. The book, Deaton, it’s all wrapped up together, but he doesn’t have the book with him right now to research it.

Erica, Boyd, and Stiles are talking, but Derek isn’t listening, lost inside his own thoughts. He only pays attention when Stiles settles in front of him, tail curled slightly to let him seem to sit as well.

“So,” Stiles says.

“You’re a mermaid,” Derek says slowly. “And you know Scott.”

“Best friends, actually.” Stiles spreads his hands. “Ever since we were kids, even after I came back to the sea. He surfs, we keep in touch. He can’t come down here to visit, though.”

“Because he’s a werewolf.” Derek’s words are flat and cautious, testing the waters with what he says.

Stiles’s eyes go wide. “He told you that?”

“I overheard it.”

“Ah.” Stiles nods slowly. “Yes, Scott’s a werewolf. So’s Jackson, if that’s important to you, and a couple of the others. There are a lot of supernatural creatures in Beacon Hills.”

“That explains my mom’s book.” And Deaton, and why no one seemed entirely surprised that he was babbling about men under the waves once Deaton came into the picture. “Did Scott know you were the one who saved me?”

“Dude, I gave you to Aidan and Ethan.” Stiles snorts. “Werewolf hearing is handy sometimes; they heard me and came to help out. I couldn’t exactly drag your ass out of the water in public, could I?”

Derek shakes his head, breath shuddering in and out, his neck tickling from the gills. “Did you know I was coming back?”

“Nope. Although it’s possible that’s what Scott wanted to tell me, but I _might_ have been distracted by him bringing a random human to the party.”

Derek is dimly aware that Erica and Boyd have left, hopefully to tell Laura that he is perfectly safe and not dead on the bottom of the ocean. He inhales again, fingers going to his throat, wishing he had a mirror. “I’m not human. Isaac… he’s an adopted Hale, but he’s not related by blood. Dating my sister. But if you were talking to Scott, that was Isaac. With him.”

Stiles tilts his head, waves one hand at Derek’s face. “Do you always talk in fractured sentences or is that shock setting in?”

“Shock,” Derek says, and it startles a laugh out of Stiles.

“Don’t be,” Stiles tells him. He falls backwards, stretching out as he swims further into the cave, then back to Derek. “There’s only one thing you need to know right now.”

“And that is?” Because Derek is pretty sure there’s a lot he needs to know, starting with _what the hell is going on_ and ending with _how fast is Laura going to kill me when I get back to land_?

“That you’re alive,” Stiles says quietly. “You’re alive, and whatever you are means you can breathe underwater. So stop worrying, Derek, and enjoy life. Come with me on a tour, come see my world.” His fingers trail down Derek’s arm, fingers tickling Derek’s hand before he intertwines with him, tangling them together. “Everything’s better under the sea, Derek.”

He’s not sure he believes that; he’s going to have to go back someday. He can’t just walk into the water and stay here, can he? But the way Stiles watches him, the way those amber eyes seem to see right through him, it makes Derek’s heart skip and his body feel boneless and he finds himself nodding. “I’ve got time for a tour,” he agrees.

And when Stiles grins, it’s like the sun’s come to light in the cave, and Derek basks in the shine.

He could get used to this, weird as it is. And that’s a terrifying thought.

#

Derek isn’t sure how far they’ve swum when he realizes that he no longer has feet. He has a pair of wide, flat flippers, his legs still split in ways that leave him spinning in the water if he lets his feet drift too far apart. He needs to keep them tight together, as if they were a single tail, and a moment later he realizes that they might knit like that, stay like that, and for just a moment his heart skips.

Stiles doesn’t notice, still holding Derek’s hand and tugging him through the water, past a deeper well in the water and then above rocky ground, far from the shore. They surface, and Stiles twists as he pushes himself into the air, flipping before diving back under.

“What _are_ you?” he asks, tugging at one of Derek’s hands again, the webbed space filled in between his fingers. “Not a mermaid.”

“Shapeshifter, I think.” It’s the only thing that makes sense. There were other water creatures, but none of them seemed the same as Derek feels now. It’s as if his body adapts to his needs, even without him thinking of anything specifically.

And it makes a strange kind of sense, when he thinks back on his life. On the way Cora healed after her burns from the fire, and the way they rarely get ill and broken bones don’t keep them down for long. Even Derek’s concussion has faded more quickly than Melissa predicted, now that he’s out of the hospital.

“I was born in Beacon Hills.” Derek flips onto his back, pillowing his head on his arms as he gazes up at the sun-streaked sky. His feet lazily paddle at the water, keeping himself in place. “I grew up there until a fire burned my family home, and I went from having a huge, extended family to having just me, Cora, and Laura. Which is when we left.”

“Your life was destroyed by fire, and now you’re drawn to water.” Stiles nods. He’s near enough to Derek that they could touch, although he gives Derek his own space. “I’ve been a mermaid since birth, but my father hoped I wouldn’t be called back to the sea.” Stiles offers a rueful grin. “There were a lot of us the year I was born. It’s like there was some supernatural confluence that brought out mermaids to find mates on land, then we were all born, and some of our mer-parents went back to the sea. Erica always thought her father took off when she was a baby, until the year she turned sixteen and found out he just came back here. Boyd’s mother is still back in Beacon Hills, coaching the swim team for the six to eight year olds at the Y and baking the best brownies I’ve ever tasted. And my mom…” Stiles’s voice hitches. “My mom loved my dad so damned much that she stayed even when it made her sick, and she died from being separated from the sea.”

Derek unwinds one of his hands from behind his head and reaches out, fingertips just barely brushing Stiles’s shoulder. He doesn’t know what he expects, but when Stiles floats closer, Derek squeezes lightly, and leaves his hand resting there. “Is that why you’re here?” he asks quietly, because it’s hard to imagine Stiles being anywhere else.

“Something like that.” Stiles rolls over, ends up on his stomach, somehow lying with his chin propped on one fist, his other hand just brushing Derek’s chest. “My mother loved my father _so much_ , and she still died. There’s a legend that says love can be _enough_ , and for Boyd’s family, it is. He’s here because Erica’s here, but I think they could be anywhere and be fine. And his mother is fine. But for my family, love wasn’t enough. She needed the sea, and he needs to be in Beacon Hills, and she couldn’t survive.” His fingers drum against Derek’s skin. “I go back, sometimes. So I may be one of those kids who went missing according to public record, but my dad knows exactly where I am. Scott used to pick me up for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and Dad comes out himself to get me now. And my birthday in April, and his in July. We have our times together.”

“Wait, how—”

Stiles grins. “Legs, Derek. They’re called legs. We can do it, it’s just not the most comfortable thing for us.”

He remembers Erica complaining that she didn’t want legs today, and he rolls on the water to look back at the distant shore, imagining that Erica and Boyd are standing there, telling his family that he’s safe. He can easily imagine the way Laura yells, rants, and the way Cora snickers and Isaac might calm them all down. By the time he looks back at Stiles, the sun is haloed behind his head and he has a memory from when Cora was small, of the halo around Ariel’s head in _The Little Mermaid_ , and he can’t help but laugh out loud.

“What?” Stiles swims over to him, touches his shoulder, a slow smile starting. “Laughter looks good on you. You’ve relaxed in the water.”

“I’m always relaxed when I’m on the waves,” Derek says quietly. “That’s why I’m on the circuit, going from beach to beach. That’s why I surf. Because this is the only place where it all falls away and I can forget everything that ever happened. It’s the only place I ever feel right.”

“Now you sound like a mermaid,” Stiles says. Fingertips drift against the skin of Derek’s cheeks as Stiles watches him. “Is that why you leapt off that surfboard? Because the water feels right?”

“I dove in because I heard your song.” He sees the way Stiles’s gaze narrows, brows furrowing in confusion, and Derek reaches out to connect with him as well, palm against the nape of his neck, fingers curling lightly around to draw Stiles a bit closer. There is music somewhere, focused on them, intent and ringing through his body. It sounds like voices joined in chorus and at the same time, it sounds like nothing more than the song of the sea, the lap of waves against land, the slide of sun over water. Derek shakes his head. “I can still hear it, but you’re not singing.”

“I don’t sing,” Stiles says quietly, a faint flush staining his pale skin. “It’s just my Echo. The resonance of me in the water. We all have one, and you shouldn’t be able to hear it. You’re not one of us.”

“But I do.” Derek touches Stiles’s lower lip with his thumb, lightly drawing along the line of it. “I’m going to kiss you.” He wants to ask permission, to reassure Stiles that he can say no, but Derek isn’t sure he can resist. It takes everything he has to wait as the music grows louder around him, a crescendo that drops away as soon as Stiles responds with one small nod and a whispered _yes_.

It sings inside of him then, whispered from Stiles’s lips to his own, entering his body until he shakes with the sound of it, vibrates in time with the song of the sea. Both hands come up to cradle Stiles’s head gently, and Derek tilts his head, finding just the right angle as he begs at the seam of Stiles’s lips, waiting to be let in and sighing when Stiles grants him entrance.

They sink through the waves, falling under the sea, sun retreating above them as the water tangles around them and pulls them in. Derek reaches for Stiles, or Stiles reaches for him; he isn’t sure exactly how it works but they are wound around each other, one of Derek’s legs hooking Stiles’s tail, while Stiles holds Derek with one arm around his shoulders, the other around his waist.

It should be awkward, strange to be doing this when Stiles has a _tail_ , but it’s not. It’s just lazy and needful and Derek thinks he could float like this forever and be happy with nothing more than Stiles’s mouth.

_Stiles!_

Derek makes a noise at the interruptive sound, presses Stiles back against the underwater ridge, feels the way Stiles rocks back against him. The anatomy isn’t the same, but it’s okay, it still feels good, and Stiles flushes and whines happily as Derek drags his fingers lazily across peaked nipples.

_Stiles! Derek!_

Stiles whimpers, wraps his fingers around Derek’s hand and nudges him away. Amber eyes are wide, pupils blown and luminescent in the faint light that drifts through the sea from above the waves. “That’s Erica,” he says. “We need to stop before she catches us and asks to stay and watch.”

“Right.” Derek lets his gaze rake over Stiles, stopping when he sees the thick penis peeking out from a slit at his hips. It’s long and thin, shaped almost like a dagger, and it’s nothing at all human. Whereas his own dick is hard and trapped in his wetsuit, enough to make him uncomfortable and wishing he’d just shed the outer clothes when he realized that his body could adapt. But the human trappings cling to him now, unlike the strangeness of Stiles’s body.

He feels the vibration in the water of bodies moving quickly, resists the urge to nudge Stiles behind him and protect his privacy. Instead he watches as the erection slinks away, hidden again behind the scales as if it never happened, although Stiles remains flushed over the human part of his skin.

“Not human,” Stiles says quietly, and Derek nods, understanding.

“Derek!” Erica dives over the underwater rock, tumbling between them, Boyd following behind her in a more sedate manner. “Laura sent us to let you know that if you don’t get your ass back on land, she’s driving back to Beacon Hills without you. I think she’s lying—Scott said she was—but she wants you out of the water so she can see for yourself that you’re fine.”

There’s a sinking feeling in Derek’s gut, the realization that the water is only temporary, that his time here is only temporary. The song in his bones turns somber and sorrowed, all minor key and dark notes.

“It’s okay,” Stiles says. “I get it. You’re not one of us, and you don’t belong here.”

“I’ll come back.” Derek doesn’t think he can stay away, not now that he’s spent time with Stiles, felt the way the song shimmers inside of him. He can’t imagine a life without water, and he can’t imagine not being here again.

But at the same time, his family is on land, and he can’t live without them. They are as much a part of the song inside of him as this is.

He swims backwards just a bit, putting distance between them. “I’ll come back,” he says again, and Stiles offers a flippant grin in return.

“I’ll be here. All you have to do is call my name.” Stiles swims next to Derek, flips his tail to move the water around him. “Come on, let’s get you back to dry land.”

The swim seems too short for how far out they are, and as Derek reaches the point where he can walk through the water, he turns back to see Stiles bracketed by Erica and Boyd. Stiles lifts one hand, and Derek feels the music crescendo within him, then fade back to a light sound that almost isn’t there at all. By the time he sets his feet on the sand, it’s reduced to a thin ringing in his ears, and Stiles is gone from view entirely.

#

It’s too much to hope that they’ll leave him alone, give him time to process what’s happened. Scott claps him on the back, murmurs something that Derek doesn’t actually hear before he walks away, taking Allison to another car. Somehow everyone has rearranged and while more gear is packed into the Hale van, they have fewer people, reduced to only family for the return trip to Beacon Hills.

“So, I’m thinking you might want to get off the circuit,” Laura says slowly once they’re on the road, and Derek is trapped in a moving vehicle with no way to escape the conversation.

He’s entirely aware of the way Cora and Isaac are silent in the back seat, the way everything seems to hinge on his response.

“I’m not the only one,” he says, glancing at Laura first, then Cora. “We all have reasons to stay in Beacon Hills.”

“With the werewolves,” Isaac says dryly. “Not to mention the other supernatural creatures. And yes, we took a look at the book Deaton gave you while you were gone. Everything spilled out pretty quickly while Scott was trying to convince us you’d be fine after diving into the water, and then two people walked _out_ of the water to tell us you were okay, just spending some time with a mermaid.”

Cora jabs Isaac in the ribs with an elbow and he stops talking abruptly. “The worst part is, you guys didn’t tell us,” she grumbles.

“Laura didn’t—”

Cora snorts dryly. “Laura knew.”

“I talked to Deaton.” Laura’s fingers are tight on the steering wheel. “He didn’t exactly tell me anything, more implied a whole lot of things.” She inhales roughly, lets it out with a slow whoosh. “I’m guessing you can tell us more.”

“Hales are shapeshifters,” Derek says. There isn’t a reason to keep it secret; he can’t figure out why it was a secret before now. “Last section of the book.”

“We saw it,” Isaac says quietly.

“I had gills. While I was underwater, I had gills. And flippers. My body changed, it gave me whatever I seemed to need most while I was there.” Derek twists his hand into a fist, tries to get control of his breathing. It seems harder than it should on dry land, like his lungs ache with the memory of breathing water in. “I don’t know what else to say.”

“Then let us talk for a little while.” Laura’s fingers ease on the steering wheel, and his two siblings and adopted brother manage to talk over each other for most of the hour trip, telling stories of exactly who is what in the supernatural world. Derek isn’t at all surprised to find out that Danny is one of the Lavaborn, able to swim the telluric currents. He hadn’t suspected that Lydia is a banshee, but it somehow fits. He twitches slightly at the news of Parrish as a phoenix, uncomfortable with fire so near his sister, but she’s calm when she says it, so he lets it go.

Jackson and Scott are werewolves, which Stiles had already told him, and the twins are wolves as well, born that way rather than bitten. Of the people they’ve met, only Allison is human, and she’s a self-proclaimed protector of the supernatural.

“Argents are hunters,” Laura admits, casting a glance towards Derek. “Allison is completely aware of her aunt’s part in the fire, and says that’s what prompted her father to change the code that they follow.” He knew that Allison was aware of Kate’s part in things; it only makes him wonder why Peter was involved with her, what he hoped to achieve by bringing hunters to prey on their shapeshifter family. He doesn’t say a word, and Laura continues. “They don’t hunt anything that lives peacefully, and in fact, they’ve set themselves as the protectors of Beacon Hills. It’s a neutral ground, a place where the supernatural live, called there by the Nemeton—our tree that grows at the convergence of the telluric currents. Deaton helps as much as he can, and they protect us. It’s… not a bad place to stay.”

“But it’s not the circuit, either.” Cora’s hand falls on Derek’s shoulder.

“It’s not the sea, either.” It’s an hour’s drive between Beacon Hills and the beach, and now that they’re almost home, all Derek can think about is taking the van and driving back. “I need to read the book again. Think about things.”

“I’m going to talk to Deaton.” Laura’s voice is firm. “Derek, I’m going to look at what we need to do to reclaim our property. Rebuild in the Preserve.”

His breath hitches on an inhalation, and he chokes, swallowing back words, nodding his response instead. There are people he needs to talk to as well, and he’ll do that in the morning. After he’s had a chance to sleep, to absorb the sound that faintly thrums around him. After he’s had time to quietly _process_ , figure out what he’s doing here, and how it affects his family.

He closes his eyes, lets Laura drive the rest of the way. As he drifts, he hears Isaac talking to Cora about getting his GED, encouraging her to try for hers as well. Even though he suspected, it still sounds strange to hear them talking about college like it’s a possibility or maybe even a probability, and Derek wonders if the decision has already been made. If he’s the only one still thinking about it, and if he even really needs to worry about which choice is right.

His heart is twisted around the options, and he needs to figure out which way to go.

#

Derek stands outside the sheriff’s office, staring at the nameplate on the door. _Sheriff Janusz Stilinski_. He mouths the words, trying to decide exactly how it is pronounced, remembering it vaguely from when the fire destroyed his home years ago. He breathes the first name slowly, testing it, and startles when he feels a hand on his shoulder, clamping down tight.

“Don’t even try, son.” The voice is kind, and when Derek looks, the sheriff looks almost as he remembers him. There are more lines in his face, less laughter in his eyes. The sheriff nods at the door. “Just call me sheriff, or if we’re being informal, call me John.” He pushes the door open, motions for Derek to step inside. “Alan told me you might be stopping by.”

Derek has already been to see Deaton this morning, solely to confirm everything he understood from reading the book cover to cover, and to confirm what Stiles had told him about the fates of the parents of each of the mermaids he met. Derek left Laura with the vet, deep in discussion about how the Hales used to be a central point of supernatural culture in Beacon Hills, the anchor for all others before Talia died in the fire.

He has a feeling that Laura is about to step into Talia’s shoes, and Derek doesn’t know how he feels about that yet.

Derek hesitates before sitting, lowering himself slowly into the chair, pleased when the sheriff chooses to lean on the desk rather than sit behind it. It puts him hovering over Derek, but it also reduces the formality of the situation, lets him breathe more easily.

“I met your son,” he says, and the sheriff nods.

“I heard. Scott made sure to call me after your accident.” The sheriff— _John_ —smiles slightly at Derek’s bemused expression. “Scott does his best to keep me informed every time he sees Stiles. I know Stiles helped get you out after you took a header, and I know you went back under to see him the other day. I expected you to come by before now.”

It’s taken two days of reading, talking, and processing before Derek was ready to involve anyone other than the Hales in the discussion. Two days of being holed up with his sisters and Isaac, talking until they were hoarse, going over every detail.

But he needs more information now, and this is the only way he’s going to get it. “Stiles said his mother died.” It’s not a gentle entry into the conversation, and Derek’s words make John slump where he sits, body curling in on himself.

“She did,” John says slowly. He gets up to check the door which is already closed, then returns to stand with his fingertips against the desk. “About six years ago, now. I loved Claudia more than life itself, told her to go back to the sea if she needed to go, but she wouldn’t leave me or Stiles. And one morning I woke up and she was just already just… _gone_.” He touches his head, eyes dropping in that way people do when talking about mental illness. “Tried to take her to Deaton, but he said to bring her to the hospital, there wasn’t anything special he could do. He thought maybe it would have helped if your family were still here, that Talia might have known something, but you’d been gone four years by then. She woke up, talked a bit while she was in the hospital, even seemed better when Stiles was with her. But she couldn’t last, and after about a week her body followed her mind.”

“Why didn’t you take her back to the water then?” Derek leans forward, wanting to know how John could condemn her to a death on dry land.

“Do you think I didn’t try?” John’s laugh is a short, sharp bark. “She wouldn’t go near water at the end, said she could hear it trying to drag her under and she refused to go. I tried to get her in the car, and she took Stiles and ran in the house, hid with him for an hour, and that’s when she was so weak that the rest of the time she could hardly stand. She was determined, son, and no one could stop Claudia when she was that determined.”

Derek stares at him, tries to read his expression and finds only sorry and exhaustion. “Boyd’s mother,” he starts, and John interrupts him with a motion of his hand.

“She’s happy here. Love’s enough for the Boyds. It just wasn’t enough to keep Claudia or my boy on land.” John pushes away from the desk, moves around to the back, and Derek feels the distance stretch between them. “You spent time with Stiles?”

“Did you hear music with Claudia?” Derek counters, because he doesn’t know what it means, and he’s half afraid to ask Deaton. There’s nothing in his mother’s book, and all other research on mermaids and music has brought up only the possibility that sirens and mermaids might be the same thing, responsible for the deaths of sailors who heard the song and went willingly into the sea.

John shakes his head. “Not such as it was, no. Sometimes there was a… humming… around her. Sometimes she sang to herself, but I never heard music.” He smiles sadly. “Vernon Boyd—the human one—he sings sometimes when I see him, and he says it’s his wife’s song. If you want to know about hearing music from your mermaid, he’d be the one to ask.”

“And Erica’s mother?” Because that’s the third piece of the puzzle that Derek knows about. There are others—Scott said seven teens disappeared that year, so he assumes there are four more mermaids living under the waves—but they can’t be a part of his search since Derek has no idea who they are.

John shakes his head again. “Never met Erica’s father. Her mother said he ran off not long after they were together, left her pregnant, and on her own, raising a girl with seizures. She was the first clue we’d had a wave of mermaids, for the ones who hadn’t said anything. I knew, Vernon knew, but the others never said a word. Erica, though, her epilepsy was better when she swam. Sports on dry land were a disaster, but in the water she swam like a fish. Never was surprised to find that she stayed in the water once she could.”

It’s enough information for now, and Derek stands, making his way to where John is in just a few steps. He reaches out, clasps his hand firmly and holds on. “Thank you, sir. I’m staying in Beacon Hills, for now. Laura’s looking into getting our home rebuilt, and Isaac’s making noise about joining Scott at college. Maybe working for Deaton, helping out around the clinic. And me…” He tries the words on for size, expressing them out loud to someone who might understand what he thinks it means. “I hear the music,” he says quietly. “Every time I see him, and even before I knew who he was. I hear it calling to me. Hear him calling.”

John meets his gaze, even and quiet for a long time before he pulls Derek into a quick back slap of an embrace. “Then you’ve got a chance,” he says softly. “And I hope you figure it out.” He turns away then, picks up a folder from his desk and waves one hand, a clear indication of dismissal.

“Thank you.” Derek backs away slowly, turns as he reaches the door. He wants to say that he’ll bring him by, that he’ll make sure John gets to see his son, but it’s not his place to speak for Stiles. He has no idea what the future will bring at this point, only what he hopes.

Only what he’s starting to think that he _needs_.

#

He should probably go talk to Deaton, but instead he drives out to the old Preserve, to where his home once stood. The grounds were large and wooded, and he knows there were several smaller houses dotting the space, some still standing, some also burned. His family had been together that day in the main house, when Kate chose to burn it down.

He spends time exploring, inhaling the scent of dust, death, and decay. He looks through the ruins for anything that remains of his family, any memories of the lives they had lived. When he unearths a picture, time seems to simply stop and he sits down hard on the ground and cradles it in his hands, looking it. Remembering his family.

He hears the song before he hears the sound of a motorcycle buzzing down the old lanes. It rings in his ears, shivers in his bones, has his body awake and vibrating with need before the bike is suddenly _there_ and someone is dismounting off the back.

Stiles takes a helmet off and hands it to the other rider. “Thanks, Scotty, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be okay from here. Derek will give me a ride back.”

Scott makes a motion with his hand, waves to Derek as well, then turns the bike around and speeds off. Stiles just stands there, legs slightly spread, hands on his hips before he spreads them and says, “Well?”

“You have legs,” Derek says, because thinking through the song is almost impossible right now.

“They’re not the most comfortable of things, like I said, but they get me from place to place when I’m here.” Stiles’s grin is almost easy, but Derek can see the uncertainty in his eyes, can almost smell the sharp scent of nerves.

Derek takes a step forward, and Stiles stands his ground, tongue licking at his lips. It encourages Derek to move again, until he reaches Stiles and is able to wrap his arms around him, pull him in and nuzzle at his throat, taste the sigh that shudders through him.

Then he frames his face, kisses him slowly, tasting the differences between being here and underwater. The heavy  weight of his body, the press of his jeans on his quickly growing erection. The fact that neither of them is half naked.

And yet, the song is there, singing around them, echoing off the trees and shivering in his mind. Stiles tastes like coming home, like something that Derek can no longer survive without, and he pulls back, leaning forehead to forehead, so he can whisper, “I can’t leave Beacon Hills.”

Stiles touches his face. “If you’re planning on surfing, there would be plenty of water you could visit. I could go with you. I don’t know if I can get in a plane, but anywhere domestic…”

Derek shakes his head. “My sisters are staying. Isaac wants to go to college. And your father is here; he’d be sick if you left him. But I feel… I hear…”

“You hear my song.” Stiles slides one hand under Derek’s shirt, presses his palm to his heart as he kisses him. “It’ll be enough,” Stiles whispers. “If we have that, it’ll be enough.”

“I can go underwater with you.” Derek skins his shirt off, drops it to one side, then helps Stiles get his off as well. He needs to be skin to skin, wants to hold him close and he sighs at the feeling of him. “Not all the time.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Stiles’s voice is sure, his body loose and easy, tension slipping away. Derek loves the feel of him, kisses his shoulder, tracing a path of the little speckled moles that are more visible here than they were underwater. “Fuck, Derek,” Stiles whispers. “Are we private here?”

They are standing on the overgrown lawn of a burned out shell of a house. Derek glances back at the way the past looms over them, then looks at the van. A grin grows as he tugs Stiles with him, opens the back and climbs in, reaching to help him. With the equipment out, there is plenty of space to stretch out together across the empty space, even if it’s a little cold. “Now we are,” Derek says, reaching to make quick work of the buttons on his jeans, shoving them down.

It seems so right being naked with Stiles, and he wants to do this again, under the water where they’re natural and themselves. He wants to do this wherever they can, whenever they can, any time he can set his body singing just by being near Stiles. He wants _this_. He _needs_ this.

Stiles nudges him back, straddling his hips, his dick long and narrow and hard. There’s a small drop at the tip, and Stiles rubs it over the head, watching Derek. “I missed this part of having legs,” Stiles admits, a flush staining his skin. “I was a teenager—jerking off was a daily routine, sometimes three or four times a day if I could manage. Sex isn’t the same with a tail.”

Derek covers Stile’s hand with his own, feeling the soft skin over the hard length, stroking along it. “This cock looks normal,” Derek says, remembering the other one he’d seen vividly.

“The other one is normal too,” Stiles protests. “For a mermaid. We will need to talk before we fool around under the waves. Because mermaid boners? They come with actual bones involved, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m a shapeshifter,” Derek reminds him. “I can adjust. Whatever I need to be with you? I can do that.” As long as he can hear the song, he can be whatever Stiles needs. They’ll find a way to meet in the middle. They will make this work.

He grips Stiles’s shoulders, rolls them both until Stiles is on the bottom with Derek above him, his hand wrapped around both their dicks. Stiles whines, hips rolling in ways that don’t seem quite human, undulating as he presses his dick into the tight circle of Derek’s fingers. He loves the way it slides against his own, and he spits in his hand, added lubricant to make it easier for them to move against each other.

It’s good. It’s _so good_ , the way Stiles makes little sounds, his head tilted back, eyes closed as he moves with near desperation. It’s _good_ the way Derek presses against him, fucks their cocks together, feels his balls draw up tight. It’s _good_ when Derek leans down, sucks a mark against Stiles’s throat and feels him shudder beneath him, the song in his heart thundering louder and louder until it breaks over them both with shouts and cry and a clattering of cymbals that leaves him drained and limp when it’s done.

The song ebbs to become something soft and sweet, lingering in the air around them. Derek stretches out next to Stiles, draws him in to hold him comfortably.

“Legs might not be so bad,” Stiles murmurs, fingers light against Derek’s skin.

“I think we’ll figure out tails, too,” Derek responds, huffing a laugh because it tickles, nipping at Stiles until he stops, moaning again. “When we get there. Plenty of time until then.”

They don’t need to leave the van for a while. They don’t even need to leave the Preserve. Derek has a feeling that there’s plenty of time to get themselves figured out. Hopefully an entire very long lifetime.

#

They walk around the Preserve hand in hand until after dark.

Derek ignores his phone ringing, dashing off a quick text to Laura to say that everything’s all right, he’ll be back eventually and not to worry. He has something important to do.

They find the river that flows through the Preserve, a loose and crashing body of water that’s not really all that much more than a creek. Derek remembers tubing when he was a child, starting near his Uncle Peter’s house, and drifting down the river on a blown-up inner tube, over small drops and rocks until he reached his Aunt Tara’s house and climbed out, running back through the woods to do it all over again.

Tara’s house still stands, just above a small waterfall with a swimming hole down below. They walk past the house and stop at the calm space just past the falls, both looking to where the river winds away from them.

“It goes all the way to the ocean,” Stiles says softly, as if speaking louder than a whisper will break the magic of this moment. “It’s a long way away, but it goes all the way there. I can feel it.”

“It’d be like hiking. In water.”

“I’ve swum down to LA before—not something I’d recommend, because the beaches were shit. I can do this commute easily.” Stiles knocks a hip into Derek. “So could you.”

“So could I.” It wouldn’t be easy at first, but Derek knows he would adapt over time, figure out how to best shift his body to move through the water more quickly, keep pace with a mermaid. “And if you can feel the ocean in it—if you have water right here—would it make it easier to be on land?” 

Stiles inhales, relaxes against Derek. “It would. Can’t you hear it?”

Derek closes his eyes and he hears the drumming then, the thunder of water over rocks, the dance of Stiles’s song above it. It insinuates itself into this space, winding around it, tying it to them and them to this place. He smiles slowly. “This is it, Stiles. Welcome home.”

It’s been a decade since he’s felt like he was home here in Beacon Hills. He’s standing in the Preserve, on Hale property; it’s all come back to the place he was born, but he needed this _person_ , this _song_ before it was right. 

When Stiles strips again and dives into the swimming hole, Derek doesn’t even think before he follows him. Everything’s better when he’s in the water, after all.

And everything’s perfect with Stiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


End file.
